Summer Hands, Ninja Scars
by Insomnia Productions
Summary: On a hot summer night, Asuma's team gathers on the roof for a little reunion of sorts. [hint of ShikaIno and ShikaChouji, ShortComplete?]


A/N: My long-awaited first story for Insomnia Productions!

_Insomnia Productions Presents... _

**Summer Hands, Ninja Scars**  
by Zoe

"Oi! Chouji."

Heavy summer air, clouds laid out over the stars like rocky islands in a sea of velvet indigo. There was barely a breeze below the second story of Konoha's buildings—nature seemed to be defying its own laws and letting the ground absorb the heat to form a sweltering blanket. Lights dotted the roofs; he had the feeling that lots of people had tugged their futons out to sleep on the cooler tiles, where they had a chance of perhaps catching some benevolent wind.

His shirt was clinging to his chest. He'd stripped his vest and sandals off earlier, about when the sun had started setting, and he'd even gone so far as to unwind the bandages from his arms. They left a conspicuously pale swath of skin from his elbows to midway down his fingers, where the very tips were browned and calloused from training. If he pressed his hands together, his fingers wouldn't even feel the grains of salty chips from the bag he'd just finished, but his white palms felt each clump as though it was gravel.

He thought it was sort of interesting how protecting your arms could ultimately leave them so vulnerable.

"_Oi,_ Chouji. Didn't you hear me?" Light padded footsteps, that would be a tread he knew well. He smiled as his friend settled down next to him on the tiles with a forgiving sigh, draped his elbows across his knees for balance. The other boy had stripped down as well, discarded his chounin's vest and protective gloves in favor of the simple, lightweight fishnet shirt and his usual nondescript pants.

Shikamaru's bare hands were entirely tanned, but lighter on the palms than the backs. He had a few pale scars that divided the brown, some of them light scratches and others definitely from the gouge of a real weapon. Imperfect fingernails, a smudge of blood seeping from the cuticle beside his thumb, a finger that wouldn't quite unbend all the way anymore after he'd caught a kunai the wrong way; such was the life of a real ninja. A leader. Someone whose personal beauty came second.

Now, this was a lesson Chouji had learned a long, long time ago. Anyone could say "looks are deceiving" and get a pat on the back and a good grade for their integrity, but who were they to try and understand? He was perpetually the chubby kid—big-boned—slow—looking the way he felt.

Shikamaru's hooded eyes and uninterested set of mouth was another example of this. Yeah, so he looked bored, big _deal_. He _was_ bored. But there lay the beauty in it. Shikamaru looked bored not because he didn't apply himself, but because he was too smart for the simple challenges tossed his way.

Chouji thought, privately, that this was the best irony that he had ever heard: a kid scolded for laziness by adults with half his mental capacity.

He was still trying to figure out how his chubbiness worked into the grand scheme of things, but he tried not to get too preoccupied by it.

Another heavy sigh was laid down upon the city, packing more heat into the stuffy streets. "I think I'm going to bring my futon to the roof too, you know. It's too hot to be inside." Shikamaru's fingers mapped a little flute trill in the air, a habit he'd picked up after the Sound fight. He'd never been able to explain exactly why, and of course, Chouji hadn't been there to see. "What about Ino?"

Now, _there_ was an example of a real ninja who painted her nails, rouged her cheeks, and still had time left over to pose in the mirror before training sessions each day. She went against all of Chouji's preconceptions of what a ninja should be, really. She was too loud, bossy, insensitive, and boy-crazy. Even from when she was young, he couldn't remember her being any different—except for the boy-crazy, he supposed. What she had was strategy that he couldn't help but admire (no match for Shikamaru, of course, but not bad), good timing, and determination.

"What about her?" Chouji smiled, loosening his scarf with one of his pasty-pale hands.

Shikamaru rocked forward slightly, balancing on his toes. He must have taken his sandals off before climbing up to the roof. A light from a window below flicked silently on, and for a moment, Shikamaru's pointed chin and the tops of his rounded cheekbones were stage lit in goldenrod lamp-light. The rest of his features faded into the blue near-night until he resembled a painted mask, half real and half disguised.

"She's awake," he pointed out.

"She can probably—"

"I can _hear_ you," interrupted the dulcetly cross voice of their third teammate. "What do you want?" A third sigh floundered out of the window, crushing and compacting itself until it could find a spot in the already fully heated air. "I know you boys won't appreciate this, but a girl needs her beauty sleep."

The boys exchanged glances, one with dark rolling eyes and the other with a cheerful grin. This was routine. "For some reason, I got the foolish idea that we should have a team reunion," Shikamaru spun, letting his nonchalance color his tone until it sank to her ears.

"What a stupid idea," the girl grumbled. "It's too hot to have a reunion."

"What are you doing inside, anyway? It's too hot to sleep ins—"

"A girl needs her privacy!" She huffed, and Chouji could just imagine her buffing her nails against the windowsill, then nervously examining them to make sure the polish hadn't chipped.

"Of course," Shikamaru replied, smoothly. "It's sort of breezy up here, though. Nice view from your roof." He squinted in the dark, eyes shiny and black between his sharp eyelashes; the bouncing lamps spread around the city reflected in them as little brightly dancing lights.

"As always," added the other boy softly.

"As always."

The light below flicked silently off.

They listened in silence for a long moment, waiting. Chouji brushed his palms across the tiles, feeling that rough texture of the salt and the fine holes in the baked clay shingles. He glanced up to the dark sky, then back at Shikamaru, whose distracted expression was a little more thoughtful than usual. Tracing his gaze as a trajectory projected outwards, Chouji realized he was staring at the moving clouds.

A little rustle, and Ino seated herself at Shikamaru's other side. The slightly wavy fluff of her bangs was the only thing visible beyond Shikamaru from where Chouji was sitting, so he leaned backwards to rest his weight on his palms and get a better look at her. She was wrapped up in a thin robe, pale yellow, and wearing little blue sandals that were patterned with tiny floral designs. Her hair, down, just brushed the tops of her shoulders. It had grown pretty fast.

Her fingernails were painted light blue, and her bare hands were nearly white—but even in the moonlight, he could pick out the little scars that tied the three of them so closely together. Ino caught him looking at her and made a face. He blushed a little, more because he felt awkward than because she was making him embarrassed, and slid his gaze away.

"So," she began, voice dryer than the entire humid city, "pretty groovy reunion we're having up here."

"Yep."

"Mmhmm," Chouji added, noncommittally.

"…Is this it? _This_ is the big reunion?" Her words were sharp, but from the corner of his eye, Chouji spotted one of her hands sweeping up to touch her chin. It paused, fingering some invisible imperfection of her skin, then slid self-consciously along her cheek to tuck a strand of hair behind her pierced ear.

"Not exactly," Shikamaru replied shortly, eyes still lifted towards the clouds. He might have been smiling, but it was hard to tell. "I'm being sent out on another mission, you know, tomorrow. I thought you guys might want to hear."

Not a word. Stilted conversation, stifling city air, sound traveling nowhere. From somewhere in the street labyrinth below the sound of a ball bouncing echoed, muted and sharp at the same time, as through coming from underwater. The moon slowly rising, waxing gibbous. Salt stung Chouji's lips from the chips earlier, his stomach already protesting anxiously. _Don't forget about me,_ it complained. _Say you're not going to leave me alone much longer. I can't take this neglect._

Maybe with something to say, maybe not, Chouji turned to his best friend.

And paused. Squeezed into the tan grasp of Shikamaru's hand was the white, blue-nailed, slightly trembling fingers of the girl on his right, who seemed to have gotten the proper idea first. Carefully, stopping to wipe his palm off on the knee of his shorts, he reached over and took Shikamaru's other hand. It was rough and warm, and strong like his. For a moment Chouji thought he saw his friend's chin soften, no longer protected by his personal barriers. Maybe even vulnerable, a little bit.

He squeezed tightly, and Shikamaru squeezed back.

Briskly, a cool breeze broke against their backs, and Ino immediately huddled closer. "Oh _jeez_," she began, eyes widening, as the clouds before them—which had been clumping together, was that what Shikamaru had been watching this whole time?—darkened and, well, opened up. Some of the lamps blacked out instantly, and the remaining ones bobbed anxiously in the building wind. "Oh jeez!" she repeated. Her words were nearly lost in the hiss of the distant rain, then the obstinate patter, and suddenly the grey curtain of rain was giving out its first drops on their head and faucet _on_.

It felt as though some god in the sky had turned on the water, either to drown them or rinse them clean.

Grabbing his scarf, Chouji hauled himself to his feet. Still linked, Shikamaru and Ino stood as well, heads down to protect their faces from the barrage, and together managed to drag Chouji closer. "Ino's room!" Shikamaru yelled into his ear, ignoring Ino's stricken expression, and took a launching leap across the street to a third story awning. She followed close behind, and Chouji after her, as Shika vaulted directly back and through the open window of Ino's bedroom.

The last inside, a dripping Chouji shut and latched the windows while Ino squelched wetly across the carpet to turn on her lamp.

An overwhelming jungle of floral patterns gave both boys pause.

"You just wanted to get into my room," Ino accused, hands on the hips of her clinging yellow robe. "I should have known!"

Shikamaru held up his hands defensively as he turned away to give her some privacy. Chouji got the idea and, grinning and blushing, shielded his eyes with one hand. "I don't control the weather. It's not my fault."

"Well, you can't go back out there." Rustling sounds; Chouji peeked and found her safely folded in a heavy indigo robe. She scowled at him as she yanked the tie tightly around her waist with a flick of her wrist. "I'll get some futons for the floor, and you can sleep here. My dad's going to _kill_ you two in the morning."

"We'll just explain it to him," Shikamaru shrugged. "I'm sure he'll understand."

She gave them both suspicious, narrow-eyed glares, then sighed heavily and stomped across the pansy-covered carpet. Grabbing his tan wrist, Ino yanked Shikamaru so close to her that her mouth was practically against his ear—Chouji felt a touch of alarm—and growled something.

Her soft kiss to his cheek was, in sharp contrast, benevolent.

And then she was out of the room, pale fingers tightly clenching the sides of her robe.

"Stupid girls," Shikamaru said shortly, in reply to whatever unasked question hung in the air between the two boys. "She called me a jerk."

Amused relief. "Nobody can understand Ino," agreed Chouji, squinting as a droplet that had been tracing its way down his forehead mingled with his eyelashes. Blindly, he began wrapping his sodden scarf around his neck.

Unexpectedly, hands on his wrists, rough, a little cold from rain, damp. Warm lips pressed swiftly against his face set fire to his skin, which had been raised with goosebumps just moments before.

The simple touch changed his entire body temperature in an instant.

Letting go, Shikamaru stuck his hands into his sopping pockets and shrugged. "Well, you know how I feel about girls," he murmured. And smiled.

_FIN_


End file.
